


Read into it

by musterings



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Clumsily supportive Clarus, Established Relationship, M/M, Secret Relationship, Some pretty shoddy journalism, beef - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:56:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musterings/pseuds/musterings
Summary: "Good gods. Must they always liken you to food?""Why are you still reading this?” asked Gladio, his ears glowing bright red."We'd have to find out who these sources are. For trusted Citadel employees to be exposing your personal lives—""They probably don’t even have sources. They’re just makin’ stuff up so they can sell their gossip rags."Clarus set his tea cup down back on his desk, and met his son’s eyes over his spectacles."Making stuff up?"Fill for the Kink Meme prompt:Clarus finds out about Gladio and Ignis from a magazine





	Read into it

The manor was empty when Clarus arrived home early in the evening, save for Jared, who was already putting around the kitchen, making preparations for dinner later that night. Gladiolus would be having dinner with a friend, Ignis, it would’ve been, and Iris was out with friends, but had promised to be back home in time for dinner.

Clarus surveyed their parlour, and the scattered tubs of jewelry and perfume all over the long coffee table. Magazines with garishly coloured glossy covers were strewn along the cushions of their sofa. Iris and her friends must have made a detour home before heading out to town.

Hitching his briefcase under one arm, Clarus sighed. Iris will need talking-to at the dinner table—although Jared served them and would not mind at all if he had to put things back in their place around the manor, it was imperative Iris and Gladiolus were raised understanding their responsibility to pick up after themselves and to keep their own home tidy. It would not do at all for a lady of House Amicitia to carry themselves so slovenly.

He folded the magazines and held it under his other arm, whilst he carried Iris’s boxes of jewelry and perfume with his other hand, balancing his and Iris’s belongings precariously as he made his way up the stairs and through the hall down to Iris’s room. Careful to minimise any collisions from the perfume bottles, he placed the tubs on top of Iris’s vanity, before dropping the magazines beside them.

The cover of the magazine on the top of the pile caught his eye—celebrity scandals, diet secrets, trends and fads, the very sight of their duplicitous headlines left an unpleasant taste in Clarus’s mouth. There was very little substance to the materials held within, but he supposed journalistic integrity was the last thing on the minds of teenage girls. 

“_ What is your true age according to your taste in bread?” _ said the bright red text in the corner of the cover of the top magazine.

“Hmm.”

It wasn’t everyday Clarus had the house to himself. Just as the Prince must treasure these evenings that the King set aside for the two of them, specifically sending his Shield home early for the occassions, Clarus treasured the early nights he could take to spend with his own children. 

And alone, even moreso. It would be a few hours more before the rest of his home’s inhabitants disturbed this window of peace once more. 

And Regis did always say he looked _ older _ than he really was.

He picked up the top magazine and slipped it under his arm once again, revealing the cover of a magazine still wrapped in plastic underneath it.

“_ Gladiolus Amicitia and Ignis Scientia: the Prince’s most trusted bodyguard and advisor? Or something...more?” _

A wave of irritation swept through Clarus. It was inevitable that a space was always reserved in these rags for stories on the Royal Family, a surefire way to sell an issue off the shelves. And their family’s close connection to the Crown also came with it constant scrutiny under the public eye, even before Gladiolus was born. The rate at which these stories popped up made it almost impossible to quash all of them. The Citadel had measures in place for actioning any attempts at slander, leaving the more “harmless” stories that took far too much time or resources to monitor. It didn’t mean Clarus had grown anymore comfortable with seeing his children plastered all over the covers of the latest tabloids, nor did it mean less pressure on his children to live their everyday lives in public scrutiny. It only ever made bile rise up his throat without fail.

And to intrude not only in Gladiolus’s personal life, but to speculate such nonsense with a close friend and colleague? This was beyond inappropriate.

He took that magazine in hand, pulling it out of its plastic wrapping and scanning the cover as he walked back to his study.

_ “Exclusive photos tell all _.”

The portion of the cover dedicated to their exposé showed a blurred picture of Gladiolus beside the young Scientia, walking in step in one of the city streets.

_ What was so telling about that? _ Clarus himself had been the subject of many an exposé in his youth, and indeed continued to be. There were never any inklings of truth to them, all just senseless extrapolations made purely to sell magazines from racks collecting dust.

He sat in his chair in his study and turned to the page noted on the cover, and he was greeted by more pictures across a two page spread, all intended to be covert, with a number of them taken from behind bushes or through shop windows. Smattered in between the pictures were obnoxious, cartoon hearts and kisses, which only added to Clarus’s disgust.

"_ Are Lords Scientia and Amicitia an item? And w _ _ e don’t mean just the Prince’s sword and shield _!" blared across the top of the spread in obnoxious blocky pink font. 

_ Prince Noctis's smoking hot bodyguard Gladiolus Amicitia, 23, was seen last week in close quarters with the equally as attractive, but just that much leggier, Royal Advisor to the Prince, Ignis Scientia, 22. _

_ Sources from within the Citadel say the pair have been close friends for years, but sparks have really started flying between Insomnia's most eligible bachelors. _

_ They were seen last week, intimately browsing the inner city markets like a pair of lovebirds— _

Just the first few paragraphs physically pained Clarus to read, each line hogwash after hogwash. 

But he picked up his spectacles and perched them on his nose, and held the magazine closer to his eyes to take a closer look at the pictures.

After a few minutes, he removed his spectacles and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm with a laboured sigh.

* * *

"You said you wanted to see me Dad?" asked Gladio after a perfunctory knock on the door to the study. 

"Take a seat Gladiolus," said Clarus with a nod.

Shifting his gym bag further up his shoulder, Gladio cast a puzzled glance at the seat in front of his father's desk, but said nothing as he dumped his bag on the floor and sat back in the seat, folding one leg over his other knee. 

"So?" asked Gladio.

"Had a good day?" said Clarus. 

"Same as always," said Gladio, "And you?" 

Clarus nodded, "It was adequate."

"Is everything alright?" 

"Yes, quite alright," said Clarus, "But there's something important we need to discuss." 

"You said as much on the phone yeah."

Gladio's knee began to jump under the leg it supported. The boy always got restless when impatient. 

Right. Out with it then. 

His fingers steepled atop his desk, Clarus glanced at one corner of his table and then up at his son.

"Are you seeing anyone at present Gladiolus?" asked Clarus.

A split second of shock flashed on Gladio's face, but it was the impassive mask that smoothly replaced it that clued Clarus in. 

Gladiolus had always been an expressive boy, and this reaction was too underwhelming, too _ practiced, _for a question that came far out of the left field, even to Clarus, who had a far better rehearsed dialogue planned.

"Nope," said Gladio, and his knee continued to jump on the spot, bouncing the leg on top of it, "Y'know I'm too busy for that."

"Not even—" Clarus waved an open hand, "_ Casually? _In any capacity?" 

"In any capacity?" said Gladio with a snort, and he added, while roughly running his hand through the back of his hair, "What's this really about Dad?" 

"There have been rumours."

"Am I someone's bastard father again?" asked Gladio with a smirk,

"Not quite as serious— Well I'll let you be the judge of that—" Clarus picked up the pair of gold wire frame spectacles from his desk, perching them on top of his nose again as he held up the magazine in front of him, "This week’s issue of _ Teenage Insomniacs _."

"Why d’you have that?" said Gladio.

"_ Are Lords Scientia and Amicitia an item?" _Clarus read out. 

The jump of Gladio's knee stopped with an abrupt thud of his foot on the floor, and his brow furrowed.

Now _ that _was a reaction. 

"Really Dad? Iris's magazines?” Gladio crossed his arms and puffed his chest out, “Those're worse than the tabloids."

"There are _ pictures _ Gladio," Clarus raised the magazine and faced it towards him, showing him the collage of covert pictures inundated with bright pink hearts and sparkles.

Gladio's shoulders tightened. 

To be fair, any everyday teenaged magazine reader could look at these pictures and all they would see were a pair of young men. Two friends perusing the markets and delis at a strip Clarus was familiar with, quite close to Ignis's apartment if he recalled correctly. A pair of young men leaving a bar in the late hours of the evening. It could have been after work drinks. Coworkers having lunch in the outdoor seats of a café. 

None of these pictures could mean a thing. 

But Clarus was no ordinary teenaged reader. 

"Me and Ignis were hanging out,” said Gladio. He remained in his seat, but had leaned forward, peering uninterestedly across the desk at the magazine on his father’s desk, pushed up closer to Gladio’s side of the desk, “Those rats'll do anything for a story."

"Read what it says here," Clarus cleared his throat and tapped his finger on one picture. The two boys were browsing a local butcher's, one of the many photos taken through a shop window. In the picture, Gladio stared fascinated, mouth half agape as he pointed at one of the large cuts of garulessa hanging off the hooks, while Ignis looked on behind him, "_ It looks like the Royal Advisor wants a cut from a different kind of prime beef _."

Gladio exhaled through his nose but his expression remained blank. 

"What do they mean by that?" asked Clarus. 

"Ignis was doin' his groceries and I offered to tag along. It didn't mean anythin', don’t read too much into it," said Gladio with a sharp shrug.

Clarus looked back at the picture. 

It was hard to see clearly considering the low quality of the photograph, but he could just barely discern how the young Scientia's eyes were squinted, almost closed completely, while he smiled amused at Gladiolus's back. 

"Ah."

"What?"

"_ You're _ the beef."

"It doesn't matter who the beef is!" spluttered Gladio, "Look, I'll bring it up with PR and we'll ask ‘em to retract the article—" 

"There's more," said Clarus, "It seems whoever these sources are, they've tailed you in the evenings as well." 

It was dark in the photograph, the two boys near silhouttes amongst the streetlights, their figures pressed so close to each other they were almost one dark indistinguishable blob than two separate figures. 

"_ After a big night _ ," Clarus began, " _ Lords Scientia and Amicitia leave a bar our source says they had been in all night, and head off for something more close quarters... and we don’t mean combat! _"

Clarus didn't need clarification for _ that. _

Father and son exchanged almost identical grimaces, looking as if both drank from the same poisoned cup, and Gladio groaned, "Iris reads this junk?" 

“It was still in the plastic,” murmured Clarus, “I doubt she had seen it yet.”

There were a few more pictures. Gladio and Ignis sitting on a park bench while Ignis spoke to someone on the phone, Gladio's arm precariously thrown across behind him, again nowhere close enough to assume that their relationship was romantic. A takeaway coffee cup in a tray sat in one of Gladio’s hands, and in his other hand was his own cup, held up to a subtle smile, with a casual glance at his friend beside him. 

There was a photo taken while the two were taking lunch seated outdoors at a café near the Citadel. Gladio was just about to take a sizeable bite of a hearty sandwich, while Ignis watched on with an amused laugh, napkins in hand at the ready. 

"_ It looks more like the Royal Advisor would like to take a bite— _ Listen to this bit Gladiolus," Clarus wagged his finger for emphasis, " _ A bite of the Prince's Shield _—" 

"Dad stop—" 

"_ Royal Advisor Ignis Scientia was spotted with having lunch with Sworn Hottie _ —Clarus snorted, the tea he sipped almost exiting through his nose—“ _ Gladiolus Amicitia _ . _ Sources say the pair have been taking their breaks together more regularly, and that they're almost inseparable out of office hours. Can you really blame them?— _ Clarus paused to raise his brows at Gladiolus, checking to see if he was still listening, who returned it with a shake of his head and an impatient glare— _ “The snack Lord Scientia has here looks delicious enough, but there's a more mouthwatering three course meal right in front of him _—Good gods. Must they always liken you to food?"

"Why are you still reading this?” asked Gladio, his ears glowing bright red.

"We'd have to find out who these sources are. For trusted Citadel employees to be exposing your personal lives—"

"They probably don’t even _ have _sources. They’re just makin’ stuff up so they can sell their gossip rags."

Clarus set his tea cup down back on his desk, and met his son’s eyes over his spectacles.

"Making stuff up?" 

Scratching the side of his face, Gladio glanced back at the leg he rested on one knee, before bouncing it on the spot again, "Yeah." 

"So you and Scientia are not,” Clarus rubbed his eyes under his glasses, “Going steady, so to speak?" 

And again, his son’s easily expressive face betrayed his emotions, his face screwing up in concentration. 

"No," said Gladio, crossing his arms snug in front of him, as if that was the end of that topic, “I thought this was gonna be about tellin’ me to be on my guard when I’m outside of the Citadel.”

"That was to be one part of it yes," Clarus sighed, closing the magazine in front of him. He stood and walked around the table just as Gladio rose from his seat. "But I also wanted to let you know you can tell me about—"

He picked up his tea cup and took another sip, while Gladiolus watched him, waiting for an answer.

“About what?”

“Anything in your personal lives that may trouble you or Iris,” Clarus began, “Relationships, for example. After all, I'd rather you told me to my face you were eloping with Scientia rather than find out from next week's issue of _ Insomnia's Women's Weekly _."

Gladio’s cheeks tinged a furious shade, his expression akin to that of his eight year old self, caught sneaking small chocolates into Iris’s crib, “Well you don’t need to worry about that, because there’s nothing going on between us,” he declared.

“I know I’m not as present as you or Iris would wish me to be—”

"You're fine Dad—"

"But I need you to know that you and Iris can talk to me about such matters."

Slinging his duffel bag back on one shoulder, Gladio scoffed.

_ Such matters _ . _ Good one Clarus. _

“Yeah,” said Gladio quietly, “I know.”

"I’ll see about who we can speak to about retracting the article, and I’ll speak with Iris later about flagging such material with me in the future.”

Instead of bolting away from their strained conversation, Gladio remained rooted beside his seat before he ruffled his hair and hitched up the duffel strap on his shoulder and turned towards the study door. From the corner of his eye, Clarus could see Gladio stand in front of the door his hand pausing to grip around the brass door knob. 

Set on returning to the work he had brought home, Clarus ducked down to his suitcase beside his chair. He brought himself back up with the documents he needed, and was met by his son standing in front of his desk, his eyes cast to the ground, both hands wringing the strap of his bag where it hung across one of his slumped shoulders.

"Iggy— _ Ignis _," Gladio began, "He— he wants to keep it quiet."

"Keep what quiet?" 

"Me and Iggy," Gladio’s shoulders rose slowly to his shoulders, straining in place before they slumped back down, “We've been dating for a few months now."

Clarus sat back and sank into the leather cushion of the backing, the loud creak of his timber chair an appropriate substitute for any sigh he could ever conjure.

"Ah." 

When Clarus had taken a closer look at the pictures, it was as if he had decrypted a code, puzzling out their hidden relationship. It had taken him those hours before Gladio had returned home to process what Clarus thought he determined himself, and what the consequences and challenges of their relationship would be, and the kind of conversation he would need to have with Gladio. Gladio’s denial had for that moment removed the weight of worry from Clarus’s shoulders, but for him to turn around and admit it himself was a greater shock than deciphering gossip rags.

The clock behind his desk ticked loud in Clarus’s ears, the gap between each tick growing longer as Gladio lifted his head to gauge his father’s reaction.

"I'm sorry,” Gladio finally said.

"For what?" 

"I don’t _ know _. For making the Crown look bad? For dating the only guy in the City I had the biggest conflict of interest with apart from I dunno, maybe Noct himself? Well, for dating a guy to begin with—”

“Gladiolus,” said Clarus, a bit too gruffly, and he cleared his throat when Gladio flinched in his seat, “That’s not something you ever have to apologise for.”

It was no secret to Clarus how broadly Gladio's preferences lay, although they never spoke of it, apart from the one time he had spotted another man exiting his dorm room in the Citadel and Clarus was forced to revise his version of the _ Talk _. 

It would be convenient to assume Gladio’s preferences for both men and women were a part of a phase, one he would eventually shake off so he can settle down and marry. In Clarus’s idealised image of the future, Gladio’s choice of _ who _ he settled down withwould be one that strengthened his image as one suited to be the future King’s Shield, a role traditionally passed down their line. 

For Gladio to fall for a man would complicate matters of succession, as well as compromise Gladio’s and possibly the Amicitias’ standing in conservative society. But in truth, Gladio could not possibly help who he was attracted to, and it didn’t matter who was part of _ Gladio’s _ image for _ his _ future, so as long as they made him happy. And when all is said and done, couldn’t one father wish that for his children?

“If anything,” Clarus continued, “I should be apologising to you, for being unable to afford you a life where you can go about your personal relationships in private.”

“Come on, that’s not _ your _ fault.”

“And this article isn’t yours nor Ignis’s either.”

“Still. We knew going in that stuff like this’d happen,” Gladio took his seat again, and ran a hand over his face. He reached out for his father’s teacup, something to busy his hands, and he poured himself a cup of tea, “I know all the worst case scenarios. Trust me, Iggy’s got a list somewhere,” he took a deep swig from the tea cup, and Clarus was not surprised to it empty after one swig, “It was hard enough convincing him we could even do this.”

“Would it help if I were the one to speak to him about the article then?"

"Nah, let me. He's worried enough already. You know how much his position means to him," Gladio leaned his elbows on his legs and held his head in his hands, "This’ll probably be the thing that’ll finally scare him off."

Having been in that position decades before, there was no one else better suited to know how difficult it was to find anyone who could understand that time spent with a Royal’s Shield was borrowed and could easily be retracted by the Crown should they ever need it. Clarus had been the witness to many of Gladiolus’s early forays into relationships, many of whom never understood this distinction. Justifiably so, for at their age, no one could ever fathom the extent of a Shield's responsibilities to begin with.

Soon there were no more girls brought home for dinner, only late nights or the earliest of mornings he’d catch his son coming home, from another night spent with another different person no doubt, or the marks on his neck he would forget to hide at the breakfast table and Clarus would pretend to not have seen, with no mention of any names Clarus had to familiarise himself with.

And again Clarus had prayed that Gladio would see reason and rein in his personal life, if not for the sake of the Amicitia line or name, but for himself.

Gladio sat back up, before massaging his temples, his brow creased in worry as he looked back down at his feet, and it made Clarus’s chest ache to watch his son be so anguished by what should be a natural transition in any young man’s life.

“Gladiolus," said Clarus. 

"Is this the part where you give me a talk about dedication to work and my loyalty to Noct?" Gladio snapped back.

The boys will get enough of that from the Council should their relationship come out to light. Gladiolus didn’t need it from his father of all people, at least not now, when what he needed most was reassurance.

"We will need to discuss the considerations and precautions you and Ignis will have to take,”—Gladio’s shoulders tensed—, “But that is for another time. Although I daresay you are well aware of how significant this relationship you have with Ignis is, no matter what capacity it's at, if you and Ignis have managed to keep it a secret for so long.”

The clock ticked several seconds more, before Gladio finally raised his head.

“So you’re not mad?” asked Gladio weakly.

Sitting back, Clarus held his steepled fingers back to his mouth.

When he first laid eyes on that cover, yes, he _was_ mad, and what an unquellable rage it was. But it was not directed at his son, nor at the unsuspecting Scientia lad.

"I am more,” Clarus chose his words carefully, “_ Saddened, _I had to find out this way, and that you and Ignis had the choice to tell me yourselves taken away from you.”

“Pretty sure we never had that to begin with,” said Gladio begrudgingly. And there was some truth to his bitter words, no matter how childish pout that accompanied it.

“It’s one of the many sacrifices we must make,” said Clarus, "But we were fortunate this time that it's for such a minor publication, if you can even call it that."

"I just don't want to screw this up," Gladio said, his voice lowered and cracked at the edges, lacking its cocksure exuberance that often made Clarus recall his own youth in embarrassment, “Not now, not with Iggy.”

Consolation was never Clarus’s strong point. In the past, he often left that to his wife, when Gladio was young enough to need it, and after her passing, Gladiolus had learned to steel himself in a way that Clarus barely had to take on her mantle, unless those bottled emotions reached their breaking point into explosive arguments that could only be salvaged by a night’s sleep to cool both heads, and awkward apologies from both father and son the following morning.

But there were rare moments where Gladio’s mask of put upon strength melted away, too tired to put up a fight and the only consolation Clarus could offer was clumsy and graceless, a poor imitation of the poetic and soothing words that his beloved wife could always weave into cautionary tales.

It was convenient that Gladio inherited but a mite of that gentleness, becoming the emotional rock for Iris that their mother would have been, but regrettable that Clarus never had the natural predisposition for it that his wife, and now his son did.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t _ try. _

"It will be challenging,” said Clarus. He rose to his feet and stood by Gladio’s seat, placing a hand on his shoulder, and waited until his son’s puzzled gaze met his, “But I will have your back, no matter what." 

And Clarus must have gotten close to his mark, as Gladio finally smiled, though small and weak. 

“Thanks Dad.”

The second hand of the clock seemed to pick up its speed once more.

"It’s getting late. You best be on your way to bed, I assume you have an early start tomorrow as well,” said Clarus.

Gladio nodded, picking up his bag to sling back on one shoulder, and made his way to the door with Clarus trailing behind him.

“And again—” Clarus began,

"I can tell you these things if I need to," said Gladio. He reached for the study doorknob and opened the door out into the hallway.

“I’m only reiterating. And if ever Ignis is feeling up to it, invite him over for dinner sometime."

Gladio paused with his hand on the doorknob, his gaze fixed on the other end of the hallway, as if in deep thought, before turning to face his father again with a lopsided smile. 

"I’ll tell Iggy that.”

"And don’t worry about Ignis too much, it’s just a story, and in a teen’s magazine hardly anyone worth knowing reads no less,” said Clarus, “From what I know of him, the boy has mettle. It will take more than a story to scare Ignis away from such a _ prime cut of beef _—"

"That's it! I’m out,” Gladio let out a disgusted grunt, and shook off the hand that squeezed his shoulder as he trudged out of his father’s study.

“Good night son.”

Gladio’s resounding and resigned groan echoed and trailed down the hallway, outmatched only by the volume of Clarus’s laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> ok i wanted to shove this out of the way before i seriously tackle Hug Ignis Week so here it IS
> 
> follow me on the twitters: [@musterings1](https://twitter.com/musterings1)


End file.
